


From Now On

by Bouncey



Series: To Carry Your Marks [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Embarrassing Childhood Stories about Geralt, Everyone Loves the Bard, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Potions, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Questionable Ancient Witcher Magic, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: “I guess I owe your ancestors a great deal of thanks,” the bard smiled softly. He’d taken the recipe from Geralt and read it over. Nothing he didn’t recognize from any of his Witcher’s many elixir ingredients. Only one thing that was definitely poisonous, at least. “If this whole thing works out.”“I won’t just experiment on you, Jas.”“Listen, Flower,” the bard frowned. “I know that it’s risky, but if there’s a chance that we can be together for many years longer than I expected when I woke this morning then, well, I’m willing to try just about anything.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: To Carry Your Marks [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807651
Comments: 21
Kudos: 655





	From Now On

**Author's Note:**

> Keeping with my Twilight soundtrack theme, the title of this story came from "From Now On" by The Features. It's a bop.
> 
> I finally made map for this series and figured out how long it will be and what I'm going to write about. Yay for organization!
> 
> Thanks for all your supportive comments last time! They mean a lot.  
> Hope you guys enjoy!

“I believe I’ve found a way to deal with Jaskier’s whole  _ mortality  _ issue,” Vesemir stated. Four pairs of wide eyes snapped over and settled on his face, searching for any sign of dishonesty or humor. 

“What?” Geralt asked, nearly choking on his mouthful of mead. They’d just finished dinner and he was halfway through a drink and a game of Gwent with Lambert. 

“I’ve discovered the recipe for a potion that may increase his lifespan considerably.” Vesemir slid a piece of paper across the table towards his adoptive son, who glanced over it with an ever-worried expression. “It would be experimental, of course, but apparently Jaskier is the  _ second  _ person to stick around Kaer Morhen after discovering their marks on a Witcher. If this method of life-preservation magic worked over a thousand years ago then it should definitely still work now.”

“A  _ thousand years _ ?” Jaskier shuddered. “My poor Witcher babies without any love or affection for so long. That’s absolutely tragic.”

" _Your_ babies?” Vesemir snorted. “You forget that _I_ raised them, Jaskier.”

“And what a marvelous job you did,” the bard beamed, gesturing to Lambert. The youngest Witcher glanced up from picking at a scab on his arm, tongue poking out from between his teeth.

“What? Why’re you looking at me?”

“You disgust me,” Eskel sighed, standing and guiding his brother from the table. Now only Vesemir, Geralt, and Jaskier were left. The cards lay abandoned. 

“I guess I owe your ancestors a great deal of thanks,” the bard smiled softly. He’d taken the recipe from Geralt and read it over. Nothing he didn’t recognize from any of his Witcher’s many elixir ingredients. Only one thing that was definitely poisonous, at least. “If this whole thing works out.”

“I won’t just  _ experiment  _ on you, Jas.”

“Listen, Flower,” the bard frowned. “I know that it’s risky, but if there’s a chance that we can be together for many years longer than I expected when I woke this morning then, well, I’m willing to try just about anything.”

“Jaskier…”

“Just one try. Please, Geralt.”

“Fine,” the Witcher relented. He tugged Jaskier into his lap and buried his nose in the springtime smell of his Beloved’s soft skin. “Just one.”

“It’ll take me three days to gather these ingredients and make up the potion,” Vesemir said. “So don’t get too excited just yet, lads.”

“Alright. Perfect. Guess we’ll drink to my health in three days, then,” Jaskier smiled tightly. Geralt wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close.

“Just once.”

Vesemir looked guilty.

That wasn’t a good sign.

“Where’s Jaskier?” Geralt asked, peering around Vesemir’s shoulder as if his mentor may be hiding the bard behind him.

“Still asleep.”

“Why is he still asleep? It will be dinner time soon. I should rouse him. You know how much he hates staying in bed all d-”

“Just let him rest a while longer,” Vesemir insisted. Geralt began to panic.

“Why do I need to let him rest, Vesmir?” the white-haired Witcher asked. “What’s wrong with him? Didn’t the potion take? Is he dying?” 

“He’ll be just fine,” Eskel said, coming around the corner. “In fact, I just heard him asking for you in his sleep.”

“Oh thank the Gods,” Vesemir wheezed, nearly collapsing where he stood. “That stubborn little fuck was starting to worry me. The notes I discovered were not nearly detailed enough about the transformation process.”

“ _ Transformation?” _

“Well it’s not just going to preserve him from the inside out, is it? There is some  _ change  _ involved,” his father figure explained. Geralt was  _ this close  _ to ripping his hair out and screaming like a banshee from the frustration of it all. 

“Don’t think it’s quite what you were expecting to happen to him, though,” Lambert added, wandering past the inside door of the keep and adding his own commentary.

“Might have been a side effect or two.”

“Shit.”

Geralt pushed past Vesemir, dashed up the stairs, and charged through his bedroom door before another word could be said. His gaze flew around the room, stance relaxing slightly when it came to rest on the bard. 

There was his Jaskier. He was bare-chested and covered in a thin sheen of sweet, lying atop the furs and blankets. The soft light of the fire bathed his skin in a warm glow. His blue eyes were unfocused and his breathing was shallow.  _ But he’s awake!  _ The bard must have heard his gasp of surprise.

“Flower?”

“Beloved,” the Witcher breathed, sinking to his knees beside the bed and taking Jaskier’s hand in both of his. “Are you alright?”

“Hot,” he laughed. It was a dry laugh. Geralt poured him a cup of water from the pitcher on his bedside table and supported Jaskier while he drank it.

“What is it like?”

“Odd.”

“Odd? Lambert said there have been side effects?”

“He mentioned my marks, I think,” Jaskier prompted. Geralt laid him back against the pillows and took inventory of the bard’s naked torso, arms, and face. The marks  _ were _ different _.  _ “What’s wrong with them, Geralt? Your face looks all strange and I can’t tell what you’re feeling. Are they gone? Please don’t tell me they-”

“They shine now.”

“What? They  _ shine _ ?”

“Yeah. Like gold.” Geralt could barely contain the laugh that wanted so desperately to leap from his lungs. Oh, how ephemeral his Beloved seemed as he laid there, shining like a thousand gold coins in the light of the fire. Jaskier frowned, the rest of his body still unmoving.

“Great. Now people are going to think I’m some sort of Fae, or that I’m cursed.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Geralt breathed reverently. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing the back of Jaskier’s hand to his lips. “You’ve always been beautiful, though.”

“Thank you, Flower.”

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Lambert asked from the doorway. His smirk was dripping self-satisfaction. “A real treasure.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growled. 

“Oh hush, both of you,” the bard chided. The words seemed to take him a lot of effort. “Can’t you see I’m tired? I don’t have the patience to referee your squabbling today.”

“Would you like food brought up to you?”

“Geralt, love, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep anything down for the rest of the night. Though I do appreciate your offering to fetch me something.”

The Witcher startled at that. He pressed the back of his cool hand against Jaskier’s forehead. “You’re on fire.”

“My spine is ablaze, it feels like,” the bard gave a mildly hysterical giggle. “I wish I was still asleep.”

“Perhaps Vesemir has something for the pain,” Geralt suggested, eyebrows knitting together in concern. 

“I’ll keep an eye on him while you talk to Ves,” Lambert said, clapping a hand on Geralt’s shoulder from behind. 

“Hmm.”

“What? You can’t trust me with your limp noodle of a bard for fifteen minutes while you find a way to relieve his pain?”

“Fine. Be nice.”

“I’ll be an angel,” Lambert winked, pulling Geralt’s one chair over to the side of the bed. “I’ll tell him lots of embarrassing stories about you as a motivator for you to move faster. And I’m starting with the time you accidentally mooned Vesemir.”

“Fuck.”

Geralt took off at a brisk pace, heading for the kitchen. It was close to dinner time so his adoptive father  _ should  _ be busy with Eskel cooking up whatever was left of yesterday’s hunt. Vesemir met him halfway, a small vial of red liquid clutched in his hand. “Ah, Geralt! I was just on my way to your room.”

“Will it dull the pain?”

“It will do exactly that.”

“Thank you, Vesemir.”

“Take care of him,” Vesemir instructed, placing the vial in Geralt’s hand. “I’ve decided that I’m quite fond of this particular bard.”

“He was aiming for Eskel.”

“What?”

“When Geralt mooned Vesemir, he was trying to moon Eskel. He just guessed wrong through the window since both of them have such broad shoulders,” Lambert chuckled.

“Vesemir made him run the obstacle course eight times.”

“Did Geralt get in trouble a lot?”

“No, not really. But he was always ready to play a prank on me or Eskel.”

“You do mean Geralt of Rivia, correct? White hair, yellow eyes, about as tall as a mature black bear?”

“Yeah, that one. One time he walked Roach all the way upstairs and left her wandering around Vesemir’s apartments while he slept. We had to use a harness and pulley to get her back on the ground floor,” Lambert snorted. “But it was worth it to see the look on Vesemir’s face when Roach nibbled his beard to wake him up.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about  _ my  _ Geralt,” Jaskier wheezed. The effort of talking was taking a toll on his already weakened body. “Oh gods, this hurts. I feel like my skin is burning off.”

“Is he worth it?” Lambert asked. Jaskier could hear the honest curiosity behind his words.  _ He wants to know if he’ll be worth it to someone, someday,  _ the bard realized with a heavy heart. “Is being with  _ Geralt,  _ a  _ Witcher,  _ worth all this pain and torment?”

“Every second.” There was no waver in his voice as he spoke. No doubt. “I would burn like this for a thousand years if it meant I got to spend them all walking at his side.”

Lambert didn’t say anything after that. He just took Jaskier’s sweaty hand in his and rubbed gentle circles on the palm with his thumb. The bard drifted in and out of consciousness, praying to every god and goddess he knew to relieve just a little pain from the all-consuming fire in his veins. 

Geralt returned shortly, eyes bright. “Vesemir already had this remedy prepared. Here, love. Let me help you up.”

He tipped the red potion into Jaskier’s mouth and watched relief spread across his bard’s damp face as it took. “Oh that’s nice.”

“Jaskier?” 

The bard gazed up at him, the muscles of his arms twitching as he tried desperately to reach for his Witcher. “Hold me, Geralt. Please.”

“I’ll only make you warmer.” 

“I don’t care. If I am to be burned alive, let it be while I’m tucked in the arms of an angel, yes?” 

“Alright,” Lambert groaned, standing up and wiping the sweat from Jaskier’s hand on his pantleg. “You’re gross and I’m leaving. Feel better, bard.”

“Thank you for the stories, Lambert.”

“Mhm.”

“The famous eloquence of the Wolf School boys,” Jaskier rasped. Geralt cradled the bard’s head against his chest, running his other hand down the curve of his spine. His Beloved’s pale skin felt hotter than a lit forge. The red potion from Vesemir had relieved the pain but hadn’t broken the fever. Jaskier’s hand tangled in the chain of his wolf medallion and drew his attention away from the panic nibbling at the corner of his mind. “You should wear more jewelry.”

“You’re the ostentatious one,” Geralt rumbled. “Finery doesn’t suit me much.”

“I like it,” Jaskier shrugged against him. “You have such lovely features. Why not accentuate them?”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it. Not very practical for monster slaying, though.”

“Only for special occasions?” 

“If I agree, will you try and rest?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, for special occasions I will let you decorate me however you please.”

“Hmm,” the bard smiled, burrowing even more tightly into Geralt’s side. The Witcher felt like his skin was being pressed against a bed of coals. “So soft.”

“Rest, Beloved.”

Jaskier tried. He really did. 

But the fire. The fire was eating him up from the inside. It felt like he was being unmade inside his skin. On the outside he was still Jaskier but on the  _ inside,  _ on the inside he was a  _ living volcano.  _ Magma had replaced the blood in his veins and passed its heat behind his eyes, blinding him. “G’ralt,” he slurred, panicked. “Can’t see.”

“Beloved?”

His throat was aflame. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ He-

“Geralt…”

Then it was just nothing but heat again for a long time.

“Is he dead?” 

That was Eskel’s voice. Concerned, nervous, and endlessly patient. 

“We can all hear his heartbeat, dumbass. He’s definitely not dead. Yet.”

Lambert, of course. Snappy and sarcastic.

“He’s waking up!”

Geralt. So full of happiness and  _ relief.  _ Oh gods, such sweet relief. 

“Jaskier?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alive in there, bard?”

“Yes, Lambert,” he coughed. “You dick.”

“Have some water,” Geralt said, already lifting him up in those lovely  _ strong  _ arms of his. Already tipping the edge of a cool tin mug against his lips and helping him drink its entire contents. “Better?”

Jaskier nodded. “Am I immortal now or what?”

“I don’t know,” Vesemir shrugged. “At the very least you have a very interesting ballad to write about ancient Witcher magic.”

“Piss off,” Jaskier laughed. “After all that misery all I get is a  _ ballad? _ ”

“You also get Geralt? Ta da?” Eskel offered, gesturing towards his kneeling Flower. Lambert mimicked his brother, joining in on the joke. Jaskier  _ really  _ laughed then, a sound that rang out like church bells in the small room. He clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise.

“Okay, that’s a new development.”

“Do you mind if I try something? It might hurt,” Vesemir asked. Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“I know what real hurt is now and I doubt you can beat it,” he said. “Slap away.”

Vesemir quickly pulled the dagger from his belt and drew a thin line of blood up Jaskier’s arm with the very tip. It was a shallow cut and healed almost immediately, a  _ very  _ faint white line rising up on the skin. A line of pale blue flowers rose on Geralt’s skin in the same place, almost too pale to notice but not quite. Jaskier giggled. “Neat.”

“You did it,” Geralt gasped, drawing Vesemir into his arms for a tight hug. “He’s so much safer now.”

“Hopefully his lifespan will also be lengthened,” he smiled. “At least that’s what the book said.”

“Worth it,” Jaskier sighed, collapsing back against the pillows like a limp noodle. “I’m exhausted. Tuck me in, Geralt. I’ve just now become impervious to bar fights and I’d like a nap.”

“Anything for my Beloved,” the Witcher practically crooned. 

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Vesemir suggested. Eskel and Lambert said their goodbyes and drifted from the room. Vesemir followed quickly behind. 

When everyone else had disappeared, Geralt wrapped his body tightly around Jaskier’s. “From now on,” he whispered, pressing gentle kisses wherever he could reach on the bard’s face and neck, “We’ll do everything together. No matter the season. I will never part from your side.”

“From now on,” Jaskier breathed. 

At last, free from the heat of transformation and held in the safety of his Flower’s arms, Jaskier fell into a peaceful sleep and dreamed of the many years he’d have with his White Wolf.


End file.
